Munit Haec et Altera Vincit
by Quiddie15
Summary: Trans: One Defends and the Other Conquers Sequel to Salvation Tourniquet. The war has begun and ready or not, it's time for everyone to face their destinies. NOT triocentic
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys! Alright, for everyone who absolutely LOATHED my ending for Salvation Tourniquet, I express my sincerest apologies! I didn't like it too much either, but I was trying something.

It didn't go exactly as planned, but thanks to evilevergreen for her help, I think it might still work. It'll all make sense in a chapter or two.

Here it is guys, my SEQUEL to Salvation Tourniquet! ((And just ignore the Trio-centered first chapter…long story. Just consider it a scene-setter.))

Read and Review! I hope you enjoy!

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One defends and the other conquers, one will rise and fell his rival. This is how it's been since the dawn of time. Cain slew Abel, his brother and rival for the favor of God. Many noble men died at the hands of Alexander the Great in hopes of preserving their homelands. Nations grow and battle for hegemony. This is the order of all things in the world. All we can do is watch and wait and hope.

For nearly three years, the wizarding world held its breath in anticipation of the coming storm. And with the eerie intuition of animals in the wild, both adults and children looked to the dawning year with heavy dread.

The Christmas holidays at Hogwarts rang in with palpable solemnity as many students opted to head back to their own families for the break. But for some, Hogwarts proved far safer than their homes and instead remained barricaded within the castle walls. The Death Eaters were more terrible than they ever were in the past: marked wizards were attacked in broad daylight, and masked figures committed great acts of terror that shook wizard-society to its core. It was Hogwarts alone that remained an untouched bastion in all of this, and only because of the great Albus Dumbledore did the grounds stay safe.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville (all in their final year) and Ginny all lugged their various trunks and cages through the common room as they made to leave the ground along with most of the other older Gryffindors. But rather than to their respective homes, they all were headed to the same location – number 12, Grimmauld Place. Neville's grandmother had unfortunately passed away the previous summer, and the standing Order of the Phoenix was more than willing to take him in. Most of the Weasley clan had thrown themselves bodily into their work with the Order, and it made more sense to live in Sirius' home for the holidays than the Burrow. Hermione, fearing for her muggle family's safety, spent less and less time with her parents to avoid marking them as potential targets as well.

The five were greeted at Platform 9 ¾ by the usual guard led by Mad-Eye, Tonks, and Remus Lupin. They traveled on the London Underground to number 12, Grimmauld Place and found themselves greeted by only Molly Weasley and Cho Chang (who had joined immediately after graduation the previous year).

The matron had lost some of her fire over the past months; her bright red mane was quickly fading to paler ginger hues due to grey, and her eyes seemed sad behind her strained cheerfulness. She enveloped her two youngest children in bear hugs first, then Harry, Hermione, and even Neville. "Why don't you all put your things upstairs in your usual rooms then come down and grab a plate. Dinner's not really for another hour or so, but I know you all must be hungry from your trip! Fred, George, Bill, Fleur, and a few of the others will be by for dinner and a meeting. The house will be full again in no time! Off you get, and don't forget to wash up!"

They all quickly did as they were told, and true to her word, halfway through their meals of beef and potatoes the twins, Bill, and his fiancé Fleur Delacour showed up and filled the once quiet house with cheerful noise. Luckily for them, Remus had managed to find an Unsticking Charm for the portrait of Mother Black in the entrance hall. She now remained stuffed away in the farthest corner of the dusty old attic, out of everyone's way.

"Ronniekins, Harry! How're you guys faring your seventh year? N.E.W.T.s got you mad yet? WWW's just released a new nerve tonic for you lot. We'll let you try it if you'd like…"

Hermione narrowed her eyes as the George offered up a small blue bottle with a yellow label reading "Weasley Wizarding Wheeze's Finest Nerve-Buster! Relax and recoup from the stresses of life with our patented calming draught. (Warning: may cause drowsiness.)"

She took the bottle and snorted derisively. "_May_ cause drowsiness? Just last week I had to send a fifth-year to the Hospital Wing to be revived by Madam Pomfrey! Aurora had been asleep on the common room sofa for **three** days!"

"Well, my dear Head Girl," George purred playfully as he snagged the bottle back from her, "we _did_ include a warning. We're not to blame if they alter the dosage."

Realizing that he was technically correct, Hermione reluctantly conceded and returned to her plate. Ron raised an eyebrow, astonished that she'd been so quick to back down. He hid a grin poorly as he stuffed his face with food. Harry, Ginny, and Neville continued to chat up the twins about their shop's success as the two grabbed food of their own and joined the table.

While their line of work kept them just as mischievous as they'd even been at Hogwarts, their individual personalities had changed over time. George, more business-minded, did most of the shop's finances and bookkeeping with the aid of his girlfriend/accountant, Alicia Spinnet. Fred, always the more creative twin, dealt primarily with product development and testing. But for all his prior extroverted behaviors, Fred was clearly the more sedate of the pair now. Though it had occurred over a year earlier, he still wore the signs of deep mourning for his late love, Angelina Johnson.

A few weeks after the Department of Mysteries' event, Lupin along with the twins, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had all been captured by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, trying to find Harry Potter. Angelina had miraculously been able to save them, but at the cost of her own life.

The burden of having watched her give herself up for their sake weighed heavily on Fred's heart, and he never seemed to have fully recovered. Of course, each loss of life in this war seemed to chip away at the livelihood of those closely affected, so everyone could sympathize with his pain. But for all his hurting, he never let himself be consoled, and this hurt Molly deepest of all. Many a night she would lie awake in bed with Arthur and think and cry aloud. "It hasn't even really started yet, not like it did the first time. How will we get by? They seem broken already…what can we do?"

And every time, Arthur would merely hold her tighter and tut softly. "There's nothing we _can_ do, Molly. We've raised them to be strong. They'll make it. Just like we did."

Bill and Fleur skipped dinner and joined some of the other Order members talking in the parlor. They lived happily enough in a small flat in lower-east quarter of wizard London, close to their work at Gringott's in Diagon Alley. Engaged for more than a few months, they hoped to be married in the coming spring. Unbeknownst to anyone but the two of them, Fleur was nearly two months pregnant. It was their fervent prayer that if not by the wedding, by the baby's birth this whole war would be over and they could raise the child in a safe environment.

The Ministry Aurors Kingsley and Tonks recruited another of their peers to the Order— a young man with straw-colored hair and a lithe and graceful sort of frame by the name of Lysander. He looked altogether too docile to be an Auror, but he finished top in his class in all his training. Kingsley's solid form had grown even more imposing with years of chasing dark wizards, and Tonks also matured far beyond her years. The three sat stiffly together on one of the couches, far more alert and on edge in recent weeks.

The war had changed everyone drastically in a short amount of time, some worse than others. But no one could deny that gut feeling that everything had been a precursor…preparation. It was all quickly coming to a head. Something would have to be done; the balance would have to be restored. Either Voldemort would be stopped or he would finally succeed in his conquest of the wizarding world. And only a handful of people knew, but there was only one person fated to face the Dark Lord. Harry, the defender: last hope for those opposing Voldemort. And this knowledge made Harry change the very most.

Everyone's eyes turned suddenly to the door as a series of loud knocks silenced the various conversations. Molly quickly ran to the door and let in Arthur Weasley along with Professor McGonagall. Bill didn't even wait for them to remove their snow-covered cloaks before assailing them with questions. "Was there any word from Profe- Severus?"

Minerva looked a bit put-off at first, but recovered and shook her head. "Still nothing. Albus thinks he's still alive, but I fear the worst. However, I do bear news. We've caught wind of new plans for the Messenger to attack Diagon Alley one week from tomorrow. Fred, George, I expect you'll take the proper precautions."

The twins exchanged dark looks before nodding to the professor. The adults quickly congregated in the parlor and shut the door behind them, leaving Ginny, Ron, Neville, Hermione, and Harry to stew silently over the bit of information they'd been witness to. "I just don't get it. We know what he's going to do. We even know who 'The Messenger' is! Why can't we just throw Lucius Malfoy into Azkaban and be done with it? We've known about him working for You-Know-Who since bloody fourth year!"

"Ginny," Hermione snapped, a bit edgier than she'd intended, "we already know the dementors are working for Voldemort. And we can't risk exposing whoever we've got there leaking us information! Besides, you know as well as I do he won't come easily."

"You know, those three: Messenger, General, and Right-Hand…they've got to be almost as heavily guarded as He is, Gin." Ron sighed and idly stabbed at his plate. "But if I got one clear shot at any of them, I'd take it and make it count. They've caused so much damage as it is. I bet if you get at one of those three, it'll be easier to take out You-Know-Who himself."

Harry eyed Ron warily through his dark musings. _These are things seventeen-year-olds shouldn't ever have to think about. Does that make us murderers?_ Harry's thoughts waxed philosophic over time as he tried to wrap his mind around the things he had to do and the things he would choose to do_. Destiny and choice_…

Hermione was the first to leave the table. Clearing her plate, she offered weak "good nights" to the others before trudging upstairs and going to bed. She didn't expect to sleep terribly well; she never did when she heard news about the Death Eaters' plans. Her guarded and careful nature had long since caved to constant anxiety. Someday it would be someone closest to her. And when that day came what would she do then? Would she shut down like Fred? Would she become obsessed and manic like Cho? Thoughts and answerless questions multiplied exponentially upon themselves. She would not sleep tonight.

And that's where our heroes now found themselves. Very changed, but still much the same. Equal parts hopeful and fearful, ready and anxious for the final confrontation.

A/N: Okay, I hope you all realized by now that the promises of action and angst for this first chapter were more of a joke. Had to set the stage, right? Well hope you liked it. We'll be getting into the good stuff soon! Don't forget to read and review! Thanks in advance!


	2. Chapter 2

Yay! Chapter Two of the revamped fic is here! Dedicated to Ella Paladino and evilevergreen (I'd be lost without you! )

I must say I'm so terribly happy with the way thing came out! I really hope you all enjoy it! Consider it my contrition for S.T.'s ending (though you'll see why I'm not REALLY sorry).

Please Read and Review! I HAVE to know what you think!

Thanks, and enjoy!

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"My Lord, I must protest. This is **not** a good idea." Right-Hand knelt before the Dark Lord as he held court with his Death Eaters. "If they already know we are going to attack the Alley-"

Her words were cut short by a wave of his skeletal hand. "We must test our source. If he can convince them his tip is true, we can trust him to bring us valuable information on the Order's plans. We will continue with the attack. Dear Messenger, you may summon your troops."

"If I may, Dark Lord, you mean _my_ troops." From the left side of Lord Voldemort, a tall Death Eater stepped forward. "And for once I agree with Right-Hand. I will not lose men over some litmus test for a spy."

A pallid eyebrow rose, and Voldemort's lips spread into the beginnings of a sadistic smirk. Calmly, he withdrew his wand and wordlessly cursed his General. "Never think you can take that tone with me."

The General dropped to all fours and silently trembled with pain at the Cruciatus curse. "But you may lead _my_ troops in the attack on Diagon Alley. It _is_ the right I've so graciously extended to you."

As the General shakily stood and gave orders to round up the other Death Eaters, Right-Hand quietly protested by the Dark Lord's side. "Forgive me, my Lord, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to hand over this affair to such a young-"

"Bellatrix," Voldemort's voice became noticeably edgier, "I endure you because you are my most loyal follower. But I won't tolerate you questioning my judgment."

"Forgive me. Perhaps I should then…"

"You will remain here, and let them do their work."

"Yes, My Lord."

Right-Hand stood and resumed her namesake position beside the Dark Lord as Wormtail entered the Hall and shuffled up to Lord Voldemort. "Master, they are assembled and ready to leave."

The Dark Lord looked up from the balding, breathless man kneeling before him and nodded curtly as his General bowed and turned, signaling the Death Eaters as they all disapperated with a resounding crack. As Peter Pettigrew looked up at the vicious creature he now served, the content smile across his tightly drawn face sent waves of nausea through him.

In a secluded corner of Knockturn Alley, 50 Death Eaters stood indistinguishable from one another with blank white masks and billowing black robes. One spoke forcefully but quietly to the mass.

"We have made sure every wizard in the world knows we exist. They know we are capable of great and terrible things. But consider that all but an appetizer for what will begin at this moment. Why are we attacking Diagon Alley in broad daylight? Because we can. Today, we will remind them why they dare not speak His name."

The crowd stirred anxiously, excited for their task. "You know the drill."

The General, wand raised, sent up a shower of green sparks. Beneath the eerie glow, monochromatic villains eagerly flooded the alley and immediately set to work. Some targeted buildings, some people. Within minutes, the area was overrun with a cacophony of screams and destructive commotion.

Partly disgusted, the General looked on as the Messenger cried out vaingloriously among the chaos. "Fear him…serve him…join him or die by his hand! The Messenger calls out to you! His patience wanes…this is your last chance! All will bow to him soon enough…we will see to that!"

"Lucius…" The General spat vindictively on the ground and stealthy moved into the masses of black and joined the fray. A few well-placed fire-spells made quick work of one of the smaller shops and quickly sent its inhabitants scrambling from the building. The General picked off one of them and knocked him back with a potent disarming spell.

The man came to him senses in time to see his attacker cutting single-mindedly through the crowd, like a predator relishing the hunt. He scrambled backwards, shards of glass tearing at his palms. His back came flush against an alley wall. There was nowhere else to go. He had no wand…his store was up in flames…only God knew how the rest of the Order was faring…

Fred winced, the pain in his hands finally reaching his frantic brain. Unable to tear his gaze away from the dark and lifeless sockets of the porcelain mask before him, he watched as the Death Eater came to a stop over him.

"Y-you aren't a regular DE, are you?" Fred tried to steady his voice as he stalled for time. Perhaps someone would see him and help him.

A soft snort, and the mask slowly shook its head. _He's playing with me_, Fred thought. "Which one then? The Messenger, Lucius? Wormtail? You can't be Right-Hand…there's no sign of Voldemort here. And he's never seen without him, is he?"

Fred was answered with a soft, throaty laugh and a second shake of the head. "Well I'm running out of choices aren't I? I'll have to go with General, then. But does it really matter? You're a coward regardless, serving a vile thing like him…"

The General's wand was quickly raised, aiming at the dead-center of Fred's chest. _No more games, his number is up_.

Fred reflexively threw up his hand, shielding himself for what he knew would be the last moments of his life. The General hesitated, taken aback by the desperate movement. But not _just_ that. The sleeve of Fred's robe fell away, and a steady stream of blood trickled from his hand down his forearm and across deep black ink that marred the unblemished porcelain skin of his inner arm. A tattoo. A word, ornately written. "Angel".

It was strangely captivating, and the General's eyes narrowed in contemplative thought. The heavy moment was broken when a flash of green grazed the stoic mask. "Get away from him!"

George raised his wand, ready to send a second killing curse at the scum hovering over his brother. Before getting another shot off, though, the Death Eater sent up a sudden burst of green that formed into the terribly familiar Dark Mark over the alley. Every eye was turned to the sign, and with a crack each Death Eater knew his job was finished and disapperated away.

Lit in a dull green, hundred of terrorized shop owners and bystanders stood dumbfounded as Diagon Alley lay strewn around them, broken and burning. The Order of the Phoenix, roughed up but still whole, quickly went about putting out the last of the fires and attending to injured witches and wizards.

George, Cho, and Tonks knelt around Fred as he dazedly stared out into space and breathed labouredly. "You look pale, Fred. Are you hurt? Do you need us to take you to St. Mungo's?"

Lip trembling, Fred turned and braced himself on all fours. "He…he saw her name. He saw it and stared and didn't have time to kill me. She saved me…again."

Fred suddenly vomited, a mix of nerves and emotion, before breaking down into a fit of sobs. George quickly cleared the others away as he simply waited with his brother and rubbed his back soothingly as he calmed down and regained his composure.

Back at Lord Voldemort's lair, the Dark Lord and his followers reveled in the success of their attack. "My Lord, we have turned their dread to panic," Lucius sweetly relayed, "you should have seen the fear in their eyes."

"Yes," the Dark Lord replied, his eyes focused on another, "and we have our General to thank for that."

"Here here!" One of the masked masses cried out, sending the group into a rowdy cheer.

"You know I act only to please you, My Lord. May I be excused, sir? I am tired."

Voldemort cocked his head to the side and pondered for a moment, before dismissing his trusted follower with a nod. He sensed something was weighing on his General's mind, but was too wrapped up in plans for the future to think much about it. A second pair of eyes watched the retreating form closely, with greater interest than most would understand.

In the cool and peaceful stillness of the darkened room, the General exhaled wearily and surveyed the messy space. Only Bellatrix and Lucius had been granted rooms of equal size and splendor. The General moved towards a large mirror draped in pale gold fabric. Taking wand in hand, a small burst of white light emitted from the tip and illuminated the mask.

Black gloved fingertips ran across the hard, colorless porcelain cheeks, over the forehead, and pulled back the dark hood. The fingers quickly returned to the edges of the mask, where pale white met deep brown hair. With an effortless tug, the mask came free.

Idly inspecting the mask as it lay on the dresser, a pair of eyes moved slowly up the mirror to behold their owner. Dark brown eyes surrounded by smooth cocoa-colored skin. Still-gloved hands released thick, wavy hair that had been pulled tightly into a bun.

She stared at herself a bit longer, trying to force out the knots in her stomach caused by thoughts of the shopkeeper's tattoo during the attack that day. Something about that had unsettled her. Was she growing soft? _No_.

"I am the Dark Lord's mighty sword," Angelina muttered sternly, "and I will serve him unquestioningly in whatever way I can."

Her self-reassurance was cut short as she spotted a mask peering into her room as it passed. Angrily, she snatched up her wand and flicked it, slamming her door shut and locking it. Her moment of weakness now forgotten, she moved to her desk and began working on drafting plans for the next strike for the Dark Lord's approval.

**A/N**: I hadn't intended on revealing the big secret this soon, but it just felt right! See? Salvation Touniquet's ending was planned ALL ALONG! Did I get ya? Ah well, I hope this is worthy of you, my beloved readers. Did I mention how much I like reviews?

Well, I hope to get the next chapter out there pretty soon! Thanks in advance!

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	3. Chapter 3

Hey! I know I promised this chapter sooner...but I got really busy really quickly. and another apology about the length; an ill-placed Rottweilier bite caused me to shorter things up considerably. In any case, I'll do my best to make up for it soon!

I'm fairly happy with it's turnout anyway! Read and review! Thanks in advance!

Q

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Angelina knelt, panting on the drab stone floor. She was vaguely aware of people yelling…everything around her seemed slow and detached. Deaf to anything but the sound of her own thoughts, she blinked slowly and tried to pull herself from the mental fog and orient herself.

Every muscle in her body felt taxed and tired, and she felt her clothes sticking to her body with either sweat or blood…she wasn't certain. Her pulse quickened…she knew she was in some sort of danger.

Forms and colors struggled to materialize just beyond her range of vision. She saw fluid darkness, and she knew it well. Stuck entirely within her own mind, she panicked and begged to feel the cold stone beneath her knees or hear the commotion around her. She wanted to know why she was here...again. The repetition was maddening.

She turned her head with practiced expectancy, waiting for the same jolt that always came. She felt an odd tugging in her heart. Pity. She felt the need to reach out to the creature that she could feel but not see beside her. But then, the connection was gone, and all that was left was a dull point of blue light and a low, menacing laugh, some of the only sounds she could hear. "Pity, this feels like such a waste."

And then, she felt her stomach clench in dreadful anticipation as the light was commanded to flash and completely overtake her. Even though she would slam her eyes shut each time, she could see the brightness through her lids, and a single word would echo through her head in that same terrible voice. A voice she knew all too well. "OBLIVIATE!"

Angelina sat bolt upright, gasping into the newly-broken stillness around her. Her fingers tightly clutched the sheets around her as she allowed the dark to pour into her consciousness and sooth her. Her skin was lightly coated in the same nervous sweat that accompanied this particular nightmare, and she blinked rapidly to loose lingering tears from the corners of her eyes.

The dream was becoming more frequent now, and unlike before, she was starting to remember longer fragments of it instead of just that ache of the feelings left behind. Something had happened to her…she'd been wronged. And as long as she was Angelina Johnson, she would figure out what happened and avenge herself.

Still agitated, but significantly calmer, the General slipped silently from her sheets and began running herself a cool shower. Forty feet above her, perched in stoic sentry on the fortress's battlements, a lone Death Eater sighed into the icy winds.

He chuckled darkly at himself. It was funny, really. He was stuck here, playing "security guard" for a lair no one would ever be foolish enough to storm. At any given time, this place was crawling with over a hundred Death Eaters, not to mention the Dark Lord and his Triad. They were almost as ruthless as he was. Sometimes they were.

Right Hand, in his opinion, was almost certainly insane. Too much time in Azkaban and a raging masochistic streak saw to that. The Messenger was nothing different than you would expect from any Malfoy. Supercilious and eager to remain in Voldemort's favor; Lucius was as vicious as possible, as loud as possible.

The General, on the other hand, was most likely responsible for more deaths than the other two combined, but never relished in the fact of it. She always preferred to let the Lucius and Bellatrix run their mouths…giving them more than enough slack to hang themselves with. Clever girl. That's why she always remained Voldemort's most trusted servant. Laughing softly behind his mask, David Montague silently mused. _That's my girl_.

Night guard duty gave much too much time to think to the already introspective David. His mind wandered back to the night he took the dark mark, about half-way through his seventh year.

"_Are you fully aware of what you are pledging to do? Now and forever, you will become an unwavering servant to our Dark Lord. To your own death."_

_  
David fought off a smirk. "Well, of course I do. And it's pretty late to try and change my mind now, isn't it?" _

He knew he deserved the swift blow that split his cheek for saying that.

He took the mark, and it burned. It hurt more than he'd anticipated, but he never showed it. He was so proud of the fact, especially when Draco took his a year later, nearly fainting from the pain.

He wasn't sure if he regretted going through with it or not. He had been young and rash. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time…he could protect her from the inside. But the moment Voldemort obliviated Angelina, it had all been negated.

"_Pity, this feels like such a waste…" Voldemort raised his wand, which gave off a faint blue glow. _

_  
Montague clenched his wand so hard it almost snapped as it took all he had within him to stay in line with the rest of the Death Eaters. When he understood Voldemort wasn't planning on killing Angelina, he relaxed slightly. Until she looked up at him. Those eyes, so sad and defeated, locked onto to his, but how did she know? _

_  
But those eyes would never look at him the same way again…so full of their past together, good and bad. It would all be gone forever…_

_  
He'd hesitated just a moment too long. _

_  
The strength of the spell knocked her unconscious, and David broke formation, running to her side and catching her before her head hit the floor. His blood boiled when he heard Voldemort laugh. "Watch yourself, Montague. You are loyal to me, and me alone. Perhaps you should be reminded of just that." _

His punishment left long, trailing scars across his back and shoulders, but it taught him an important lesson about the Dark Lord's nature: he feared betrayal more than anything else.

David snorted into the night. _The Dark Lord is insecure_.

He stepped away from the ledge at the approach of footsteps behind him, signaling the arrival of his relief. He nodded shortly before striding away, too quickly for Millicent Bulstrode to begin whatever conversation she'd had in mind.

He moved quickly down the cavernous stone stairwell to his barracks on one of the lower floors. As he passed the level reserved exclusively for the Triad, he gave a cursory little glance at the door. Some hopeful corner of his heart hoped that she'd be standing there, waiting for him.

Just as he turned his head to peer back into the darkness of the stairwell, the door opened. David's heart began to beat wildly before his head could remind him to calm down. Angelina pulled her long black dressing robe a little tighter around her and stiffened up as she noticed the Death Eater. David just smiled behind his mask. Her hair was unbraided, long and damp across her shoulders. Until spotting him, it was the most relaxed he'd seen her since school.

His silent reverie and remembrance of prior trysts was snapped by the General's harsh voice. "Who are you, and what are you doing?"

Impulse once again beating out his greater sensibilities, he snapped back, "Last I checked, the Dark Lord hadn't implemented a curfew."

Angelina was taken aback, but only for a moment. "Pardon me? I believe your General asked for your name."

David wondered if she could see him smirking. "My apologies, General. The name is Malfoy."

He turned and continued down the steps as Angelina's demeanor broke and she began to laugh. "You're not. Draco wouldn't dream of mouthing off to me. Too scared I'd run and tell on him to the Dark Lord. So you're really not going to tell me your name? Do you have something to hide?"

Without missing a beat, he continued down the steps, his voice echoing through the dank stone halls. "Oh Angelina, you have no idea."

She was more than relieved he was far out of view. The stunned and blanched look on her face at the sound of her name, a name she was so rarely called she didn't know the lesser Death Eaters even knew it would have been most unbecoming of a leader such as herself. She dropped her wand and fought her instinct to chase down the unknown man that had used her name so casually.

She peered around the stairwell and found only unbroken darkness. Shaken for the second time that night, Angelina headed back towards her quarters, whatever reason she'd had for coming to the stairway long forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

Quiddie here! Okay, MASSIVE delay in updating…I've just been busy and brainlocked. But here you go! Chapter 4 and I'm fairly proud of it! Mostly because it helped me fight though some serious writer's block, so I shouldn't be that delayed ever again! I hope you enjoy it! Lemme know what you think! You guys know how much I love reviews…

-- Q

A moonlit night pouring in through a thinly veiled window; a silence so heavy it dulls other senses; a boy, and a girl. They share common threads, but none as sturdy as their mutual loss. She, a boy she wasn't sure she loved, but knew she couldn't live without. He, a young woman he loved more than anything else in the world. Any other pair would take solace in one another, help themselves to heal. Perhaps even find new life and love in each other. With Cho and Fred, the Order of the Phoenix would have settled for a temporary cessation of hostilities.

Cho's high, whiney voice broke the stillness. Her small, glassy eyes blinked several times as she leaned across her chair and cleared her throat. Fred sighed lightly with annoyance and tried to ignore her, but to no avail.

"Everybody hates us for being this way, Fred."

The emotional waver in her voice made him sick. Still, he humored her. "What on earth are you talking about, Chang?"

"The way we are. Because of the people we've lost. They think we're weak. But they don't know how much it hurts…how painful it is every day just to wake up and know you're never going to see them again..."

"Of course they understand, Chang. Everyone's lost someone-"

"Maybe, but now it's different. We all know what's out there. W-when he killed Cedric…I never got to say goodbye…I didn't even know…"

Fred slammed down his book and stood menacingly over Cho. "Oh yeah, well I _did_ get to say goodbye! In fact, I got to _watch_ her die! Do you think that's better? Do you think that's _closure_? Stop deluding yourself! You're no widow! I seem to remember you and Potter having a snog or two the very next term. You can't have it both ways, love-"

"How dare you question my loyalty to Cedric! I loved-"

"Bollucks! You were fifteen! You didn't even know what love _was_ at that age!"

Cho, looking as though she was about to assault him, leaned up close to his face. "When did you know you were in love with Angelina?"

Fred paused, his anger immediately waning to defeat. "The moment I met her."

"Exactly."

"But with her, it's different. You don't understand."

She grabbed his arm roughly and pointed a thin little finger in his face. "Of course I understand! That's what I've been saying this whole time!"

"Look, Fred. I've been thinking. You and I, we've got to move on for the sake of the Order. And I just think that since we're in the same boat, we could help each other."

Fred was horrified by her sudden change of tone. As her hands came to rest gently on his shoulders, he shuddered and backed away, shaking his head. "I know where this is going…but no. She may be gone, but I'm not so quick to forget as you, Chang."

Like the manic, bipolar creature she'd become, Cho's purring demeanor dropped into fury at Fred's rejection. Looking quickly around the room, she picked up the book he'd slammed down just a few minutes prior and craned her arm back to throw it. Fred quickly caught wind of her intentions and snatched the book away, chastising her as one would an undisciplined puppy.

"Get a grip on yourself! What are you doing? No wonder Potter couldn't handle you! You're all over the place…wait…"

Cho burst into tears at the mention of Harry's name, covered her face with her hands, and fled the room. Fred exhaled tiredly and looked over at a forlorn old clock in the corner. Rubbing the palm of his hands soothingly over the cover the book, he looked out the window at the newly begun snowfall before following in Cho's footsteps and leaving the room for his own bed.

She had a point. How long could he mourn her? How long before his misery turned him into something like Cho? He knew he wasn't ready to try again, and he was positive he'd never go for the nutter Ravenclaw. But at some point, he was going to have to admit she wouldn't come back to him.

_But not tonight_. Tonight he could dream of Angelina. Dream that his angel would return to him and make everything all right again. That was the beauty of dreams. And he'd not deny himself that small luxury quite yet.

…

Angelina's stomach turned as she watched the debauchery before her at the Dark Lord's side. Voldemort ran his dark little kingdom in the old way, with shows and hedonistic festivals to celebrate their victories. A lavish feast with too much wine proceeded, and Lord Voldemort had promised a bit of fun to follow.

A general surge in bawdy applause welcomed the night's entertainment: a young man chained and already hazed. Against her better judgement, Angelina strained to see his face. Experience had taught her displays like these were easier to tolerate as long as she never saw the face. It made them too human.

That had always bothered her though. Behind the glossy white mask, Angelina took countless lives in the name of the Dark Lord…hidden behind the fearsome and gruesome persona she'd created for her self as the military leader of the Death Eaters. But in the lair, maskless after the feast, she found it noticeably more difficult to do her job.

One very drunk Death Eater stepped forward, grabbing the man roughly by his long, dark hair. Angelina noticed that his hair was matted into clumps, but judging by his appearance, he did not look as though he'd been held for long.

The man shuddered and tensed as the Death Eater loosed a sloppy blow onto his cheek before dropping him back to the stone floor. Angelina's lip twitched with disgust as Right-Hand and The Messenger laughed uproariously as the drunkard bowed wobbily and stumbled back to his comrades. Voldemort himself added a cruel chuckle to the cacophony of sound.

Noting her own uncharacteristically extreme discomfort with the current situation, The General furrowed her brow and refocused her eyes on a far wall as the broken young man began to stir once more, raising himself to his knees, an act of dignity that certainly wouldn't go unpunished.

"Merlin's beard…it can't be…"

His voice cracked, having been used for something besides howls of pain for the first time in a few days. The room quickly grew silent with intrigue and all eyes, Angelina's included, fell on the dark man's face.

"I must be dead. They all saw you die too…but you're here in front of me…"

His eyes narrowed, focused undeniably on The General. "…'Lina! Poor Fred, he's been a wreck. But don't worry…I'll get you out of he-"

His last word choked and sputtered into a strangled cry as Lee Jordan began grasping frantically at his neck. Angelina, panicking, raised her wand and ended the unseen choking curse. She turned to the Dark Lord, her startled eyes searching his own. He looked purposefully past her, waving a hand in forced indifference. "Kill him."

"NO!"

She surprised herself with her outburst, but she knew she had to do something to buy more time. She had to keep the man alive a little longer at least. Turning her back entirely on the bloodied and startled young man at the center of a sea of black, she appealed to her master.

"My lord, you promised us the spoils of war as incentives for a job well done. Am I right?" Hardly waiting for his imperceptible nod, she continued. "Well, this man is a spoil from the attack on Diagon Alley. I'd like to claim him for personal uses. I want this man as my slave."

He did not refuse her, but looked intently into the crowd of Death Eaters below for a moment before Lucius spoke up. "My lord! You have already condemned this whelp to death! And you'd let her flout your authority in this manner? What use would _she_ have for a slave?"

"Lucius, none of us have said a word to Narcissa about you penchant for taking witches as personal sex toys…"

Lord Voldemort silenced the squabble with a hand. "Messenger, be silent. She has the same rights as any of us. And my beloved General: you know the rules. You may take him as long as none lay claim as well. Do any here challenge her right to this prize?"

As if on cue, a pale, rat-faced young man stepped forward and spoke up. "Draco Malfoy, my lord. I too lay claim to the man."

Angelina looked mutinous. So _that_ was the Dark Lord's plan. And he was looking at Draco just a minute ago…that little sycophant would do anything to get in his good graces…

"Fine. A challenge. My lord, please name the terms."

The rules stated a challenge for spoils would be resolved by a conflict. The Dark Lord would set the parameters for the match. Winner takes all. Very simple, if not a bit brutish at heart.

But knowing the Dark Lord's bloodlust, the fight would be physical. And Angelina wasn't worried. She was The General for a reason. Wand-dueling or hand-to-hand combat, she could defeat just about any wizard on the planet. Some days she even allowed herself to believe she could take the Dark Lord as well.

She smirked arrogantly and glared at the young Malfoy as she awaited Lord Voldemort's decision. Malfoy narrowed his eyes and took a few shallow, calming breaths, avoiding eye contact.

"Very well, a simple duel. Transfigured swords, I think. Yes. That will do nicely. To submission. For the rights to this wizard."

Voldemort's casual air didn't quite reach his narrow slit-eyes, and Angelina was immediately unnerved as the Death Eaters formed a large ring in the center of the floor and allowed the pair to walk in. The Dark Lord should have known that this wouldn't be a challenge for her…

As Draco took up a weak-looking attack position and transfigured his wand into a sword, Angelina took a closer look at the beaten wizard. His large, dark eyes were bloodshot and worried. The General felt her throat tighten a bit with emotion. She wanted to reassure him, to let him know that it was she that would save him, and that he didn't have to look afraid. But instead, she was silent and expressionless as she transfigured her wand and faced-off with Malfoy.

He rushed her, praying that his adrenaline would overtake her by sheer strength. She laughed and stepped aside, butting him in the back with the handle of her sword. He nearly lost his balance.

"Little fool…who do you think you're dealing with? I ought to gut you here and now! Do you really think the Dark Lord would punish me for it? One less Malfoy to swat away like the annoying parasites you are…"

His pale face blotched with red, Draco spun on his heel and charged her again. Feeling especially vindictive, Angelina dodged the blow, but not before grazing the boy's pale shoulder with her blade. He cried out sharply, looking murderous.

Before he could summon another futile attack on her, though, Angelina swung her sword out powerfully at his stomach. In his efforts to avoid the blow, he toppled away and onto his back. Angelina smirked and pointed the tip of her blade at his throat.

"Concede the match, Draco. I've won."

Bending to her occasional waves of ego, Angelina relished the resounding applause given by the Death Eaters. She un-transfigured her wand and knelt before the Dark Lord.

"I have done as you've commanded, please now allow-"

Later, Angelina would wonder how she never heard his footsteps coming up behind her, not to mention his ragged, frustrated breathing. He knocked her down with a swift backhand and stood over her, livid.

"Arrogance woman…you should have waited for me to concede! This will teach you…" he raised his sword imperiously, "…and don't forget, I owe you one!"

He looked at the trickle of blood coming down his arm before deftly sinking his own blade into the soft flesh of her shoulder. She howled with both pain and fury.

"Say it, General…concede…" he knelt beside her, leaning his weight a bit harder on the sword and whispering, "…one little word to end the pain…tell them all I'm better than you…submit to me…you've wanted to for so long…"

Angelina grit her teeth, her mind swimming now on the brink of consciousness as she reached across with her free hand to struggle vainly against the steel. Her stomach lurched to feel the sticky wetness of her blood, and she felt an eerie sense of déjà vu as she beheld the crimson against the warm brown of her hand and wrist.

_Kneeling again a stone floor much like this, her panic clouded by mortal drowsiness that accompanies the loss of too much blood. But then footsteps and a voice both mocking and strong. Then a touch. And then nothing. _

She felt the blade twist beneath her skin, and she finally cried out. "Stop!"

Draco pulled the blade and un-transfigured it, pointing the wand directly at the young man. Angelina rolled onto all-fours and watched dizzily, mumbling in protest.

"No…don't do it…Lee…don't kill him…"

She didn't see the look of shock on several faces including both Malfoys and Voldemort. Draco quickly cursed Lee, a bright green light robbing the former Gryffindor of the last dregs of life in him as he crumpled limply. Angelina quickly followed suit, dropping into unconsciousness as several Death Eaters that had been medi-wizards in the regular world swarmed around her.

Montague, stepping back from the ring, narrowed his eyes in pensive optimism. He suppressed a smirk, wholly unconcerned with Angelina's wound. It would be fixed in an instant. But for a small moment before her collapse, she'd given him enough hope to last him a lifetime. _Maybe it isn't permanent_…


End file.
